


Spirit Pane

by BlackSamuraiLiterature



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Summoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:13:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackSamuraiLiterature/pseuds/BlackSamuraiLiterature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Narumi’s first impression on his new assistant was a rather conflicting one. He saw that Raido had strength, skill, and appearance that could strike fear in any foe, but he also noticed that the kid was a tad bit on the clumsy side. It was a trait that normally did not affect their line of work, though there is a limit to everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spirit Pane

Narumi never was the type of man to trust his first impressions too seriously; his profession was half to blame form that trait. Being a private detective entitled him to all the petty cases that would either make the local law enforcement cross or from personal reasons from the client, and as history has proven, both usually meant that there was some sort of queer resolve connected on a tail string. What cast his agency aside from the rest, however, was that those unexpected strays from intuition were always caused by some supernatural happening or brute. It was the only consistent thing he knew about his job. After all, they were the only type of cases he would accept. Yet, like most things, there was one exception he believed to prove him wrong; it was his assistant, Raido.

            The first time he met the kid, Narumi could instinctively tell the new Devil Summoner was wayward and reckless, likely to the point of fault, with a strong, steady determination to complement. It was the scars, still freshly forming, that cascaded down his milky right eye and across his face, giving the youth the look of a wild ruffian rather than the well-mannered school boy he was, that gave the detective an accurate deduction. It also proved the boy was a fighter, born and bred, ready to act at any moment’s notice like a warlord reincarnate—gun and sword at the ready on his hips. Broadened shoulders, seasoned complexion, all mere notes on a list Narumi filtered through his head, questioning if it was what defined a fitting configuration of the title Kuzunoha.

            Clumsiness was not one of those qualities that crossed his mind, and yet it seemed the kid had fair aptitude for committing it. His balance was poor, so he sometimes swayed as he walked—causing him to occasionally knock into things—and his mind was careless, like accidentally stepping on his feline friend’s tail one too many times. Both mysteries to Narumi, because he constantly observed the boy habitually twisting his head as if he wanted to grasp his surroundings better, but what really concerned the detective was that Raido would return from frays completely battered. He understood it to be because of these faults.

            “Jeez, kiddo, you’re gonna run up the medical bill if you keep coming back full of holes!” Narumi would remark with a chuckle and a slap on the shoulder, even if it was bruised.

            “My apologies, Mr. Narumi,” Raido would say, “I allowed the demons to get a little too close. I’ll admit that close combat has recently become a weakness of mine. I’ll train harder so that I’ll be prepared next time.”

            The summoner made it sound remarkably convincing that everything was all right, and Narumi was foolishly willing enough to believe it—until the attribute almost got the boy killed. Carelessness such as spilling coffee or tea every once in a while was something the senior detective could overlook with a wave of the hand, but getting hit by a passing automobile was not something he could whisk away so easily. The incident even made daily newspapers with headlines like: “Accident in Ginza: Student Hit by Passing Car” or “Teenage Boy Sustains Injury while Crossing Street.” Narumi did not read the paper that morning. Instead, it just sat neatly folded on top of his desk alongside other relics he never touched.

            Afterwards, it got stagnant around the office, but not from absence of cases. Some days Narumi would only see Raido around breakfast or in passing to say he was going to attend school—an abnormality for the kid. Some days Narumi would only see Raido in the afternoon sitting silently at the wooden table in the middle of the room, spending hours devoted to his studies. Some days Raido would spend dawn until dusk on an assignment, and some days Narumi would not see Raido at all. He was not neglecting the kid, or being naïve about what was really happening, the detective simply decided that it would have been for the better to leave the summoner alone to deal with his own problems—it seemed suited for Raido’s personality. Regardless, it was still his responsibility to look after the kid’s wellbeing; knowing that made him feel a sliver of remorse.

            The peak of day just passed when Narumi strolled casually through the office door after a rare day out, and was quite confused to see the young summoner sitting in the table’s chair, the one closest to the door, with his back turned. It was a surprise, the man did not expect the boy to be back that early in the day, but he understood why after noticing rips and tears strewn on the black cloth draped over his shuddering shoulders.

            “ _Could the kid finally not take it anymore? Should I have… said something?_ ” Narumi thought as he reached to give his assistant a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Genuine concern where in his actions.

            “Raido…?”

         The moment his touch found the other’s its consequence followed in a blur—too quick to comprehend, too unpredictable for a deft-less response. The screeching of wood against wood synchronized with the click of a readied cylinder cocked into place, and with a swift turn of the boy’s hip, Narumi was gawking down the barrel of a revolver. Any other detail was lost somewhere in the chaotic transition of then and now. Neither of them could recall when Raido stood up in desperation or when Narumi threw his hands up, open palmed, in defense, but it happened—instinctively in grace. That was one facet the detective always commended the summoner for, that even while distraught his movements never faltered from skill and articulacy, but he was slipping.

            The man could see it in the boy’s eye. It was tough, ridged and had a fiery burn in it like wildfire, crackling with youth and recklessness, but that was what exposed the farce, because Narumi realized that those were the same eyes he wore when he was Raido’s age; they were the same eyes that swelled at night, moist from pain. Loss of friends, loss of self—degradation from self-infliction—all from days devoted to serving the Imperial fatherland, something that they had in common, though he had no intention of telling the kid of his time spent in the service.

            Only a second or two slipped by before Raido recognized reality, melted his face into utter disbelief and horror, dropped his gaze, and placed the gun on the tabletop in shame. There was no other reaction than that; it was like he had stalled, not knowing what to do next.

            “ _I understand, Raido_ ,” Narumi thought, intending to comfort, however he would be the only one to know it since the exact mirrored notion passed through his mouth: “I want to understand, Raido.”

            The boy dropped his jaw ready to speak, but only faint beats of air escaped. If he spoke it would wound his pride, and he knew all too well how long it would take for a scar to heal.

 

“ _This is shameful. You have disappointed us._ ”

 

            Nothing about the situation was willing to change, not on Raido’s behalf; Narumi’s instincts told him that, yet, somehow, the kid’s cat was able to persuade him otherwise with a small “meow” and possibly the most intimidating glare the feline face could conjure. Goto was a phantom entity around the agency, normally never attracting much attention, although he made himself known now, and the man was glad for that favor because the cat always had great authority over the summoner. Like a metaphor however, Goto made his point, whatever it may have been, and then made his leave.

 

“ _Your abilities are pathetic compared to the ones who preceded you!_ ”

 

            “I am a disgrace,” Raido said through clenched teeth. He slumped into the chair behind him at the far end of the table—head bowed from the weight of the world—and continued, “I shouldn’t be allowed to bear the title of a ‘Devil Summoner’ let alone a ‘Kuzunoha’.”

 

“ _It was a grave error for you to assume the mantle of 14th Raido Kuzunoha…_ ”

 

            Narumi grabbed the head of the opposing chair across from the kid and sat down, bending over—elbows resting on his knees—placing himself beneath Raido’s plane. Scratching at the back of his head, ruffling the mess of unkempt hair into more disarray, the detective asked: “Why’s that, kiddo? You’ve always done more than an exceptional job from what I see. Not any ol’ bimbo can do what you do, you know.”

            The summoner was silent. In unwitting defense, he drew his hand over the right side of his vacant expression, thinking that perhaps it was not a lost effort in hiding his defect. It was a sign of weakness, a sign of fear, doubt Narumi never witnessed the youth convey before because he was always strikingly outwardly resolute, formidable, and straightforward. Inside it made the man feel strangely satisfied recognizing that insignificance, because it was a human reaction, emotion that originated from him and not what he stood for, a rarity in the detective’s opinion. He waited for the kid to speak, but when he did not, Narumi tried to coax a response and said: “If you want to keep it all balled up, then that’s your choice, but if you can’t level with me then—”

            “I’ve slandered the sacred name of Raido,” he began, “because I’ve become afraid… of petty things! I am expected to be fearless, but I can’t even fight the easiest enemies without being nervous… I can’t even cross a street without feeling anxiety! All because I can’t see! How can I fulfill my duties as a Summoner when I can’t even live a daily life without being impeded? How can I adjust to the demands of a Summoner when I can’t even adjust to having a blind eye?”

             Everything became astonishingly clear to Narumi the moment the last words left Raido’s mouth, and the truth was painfully simple, much so that detective had to choke back a chuckle and grin so he would not imply a false impression. Just like the many mysterious cases that crossed through the agency, the young summoner too had a quality about him that should not be taken at face value, and that made the man want to laugh since it meant there never was an exception. His clumsiness was only an illusion that would pass, because his determination was a truth. The boy was a fighter, born and bred—a warlord reincarnate.

            A soft smile escaped onto Narumi’s lips.

            “Is that what this is all about? Raido… the Yatagarasu believes in you,” the man said, “and if it means anything, I believe in you, too.”


End file.
